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Terminating an Adoption

By Lisa Belkin August 26, 2009 1:00 pmAugust 26, 2009 1:00 pm

Regular Motherlode readers have already met Anita Tedaldi, who blogs at ovolina.com. She has written a few guest posts about being a military spouse. But she has never before written anything like this.

A few months ago, when another guest blogger wrote about secondary infertility, many of the comments were along the lines of “why don’t you just adopt?” and some of the responses were in the vein of “adoption is not always that easy.” In the middle of that I heard from Anita, who asked to share the story of D., her adopted son (she has used her real name here, but changed his), whom she raised for 18 months before she relinquished him to another family last year, when he was about two-and-a-half years old.

The termination of an adoption is a fraught topic, raising questions of love and loyalty and the definition of parenting. Anita’s tale will make some of you angry, but she hopes it will trigger a deeper understanding of how fragile and fierce the bonds of adoption can be.

My Adopted Son

By Anita Tedaldi

The first time I considered giving up D. I was lying alone in my oversized bed. It was about midnight, my children were asleep and my husband was deployed. I was so taken aback by my thoughts that I bolted upright, ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. It was dark, but I could see my silhouette in the mirror and I stared to see if I was looking at a demon instead of D.’s mother.

I ran to D.’s room, afraid that he was already gone. But he was there, lying on his Thomas the Train sheets, sucking his thumb and breathing evenly. I caressed his cheek with two fingers and he exhaled. “I love you little man,” I whispered, and kissed his forehead, swallowing down the knot in my throat. I went back to my room and sobbed into my pillow.

D. was my adopted son. He’s a little boy from South America who came to our home several months before that frightening night. He arrived through Miami International Airport on a Monday afternoon, and I was so anxious that on my six-hour drive to pick him up, I dug my nails into the steering wheel for the duration of the trip, leaving marks I can still see today. I couldn’t contain my excitement. After waiting many long months, I’d finally hold and kiss my son.

I had wanted to adopt for a long time, even before I met my husband or had my five biological daughters. I’ve always wanted a large family, like the one I grew up with in Italy, and I love the chaos and liveliness of many kids.

I did lots of research on adoption, including attachment problems and other complications that older adopted children can have. I spoke to my therapist and went through a thorough screening process with social workers to figure out if I, and my family, could be a good match for a child who needed a home. We were approved, and began the long wait for a referral. When they told us about D., I was ecstatic and convinced that I’d be able to parent this little boy the same way I had done with my biological daughters.

When he arrived in the U.S., our pediatrician diagnosed our son with some expected health issues and developmental delays. His age was not certain — he had been found by the side of a road — but the doctor estimated he was a little younger than one year. D. lacked strength in his legs and had a completely flat head, from lying in a crib so many hours a day. The first few weeks at home, people often asked me if he had experienced a brain injury. D. also suffered from coprophagia, or eating one’s own feces, which my pediatrician assured me the majority of children outgrow by the age of four. Most mornings, when I went to pick him up from his crib, I’d find him with poop smeared on his face and bedding.

But the physical or developmental issues weren’t the real problem. Five or six months after his arrival, I knew that D. wasn’t attaching. We had expected his indifference toward my husband, who was deployed for most of this time, but our son should have been closer to his sisters and especially to me, his primary caretaker.

His social worker, his pediatrician and his neurologist all told me that he had come a long way, and that attachment issues were to be expected with adoption. But D.’s attachment problems were only half the story. I also knew that I had issues bonding with him. I was attentive, and I provided D. with a good home, but I wasn’t connecting with him on the visceral level I experienced with my biological daughters. And while it was easy, and reassuring, to talk to all these experts about D.’s issues, it was terrifying to look at my own. I had never once considered the possibility that I’d view an adopted child differently than my biological children. The realization that I didn’t feel for D. the same way I felt for my own flesh and blood shook the foundations of who I thought I was.

I sought help and did some attachment therapy, which consisted of exercises to strengthen our relationship, mostly games because of D.’s age. He fell in my arms many times throughout the day, we sang songs, read books, repeated words while we made eye contact. We built castles and block towers and went to a mommy and me class.

Still, I struggled. One day (I’m still not exactly sure what was different about that particular day) I was on the phone with Jennifer, our social worker, who merely asked “what’s up” when I blurted out that I couldn’t parent D., that things were too hard.

As soon as I said these words out loud, a flood of emotions washed over me, and I sobbed, clutching the phone with both hands. Jennifer didn’t say anything, she waited patiently, and when I had nothing left, she asked me to start from the beginning. We talked about my family; about the problems my husband and I were having with D. and, as a result, with each other; about the girls and their partial indifference toward D.; and about some of my son’s specific challenges.

For the next several weeks Jennifer and I spoke daily. She mostly listened and told me to focus on D.’s future and well being above everything else. Eventually I told her that I’d look at profiles of potential families, but stressed that I wasn’t committed yet, just considering options.

My thoughts and emotions were disjointed and came in waves. One moment I was determined to keep D. because I loved him. An instant later, I realized that I wasn’t the parent I know I could be, and that I should place D. with a better family, with a better mother.

As I wrestled with these demons, things remained very tense in my home; whenever my husband was stateside we fought incessantly. I felt I was swimming upstream until one early morning Jennifer called, and told me that she had found a great family for D. They had seen his pictures, learned about his situation, and fallen in love with him. The mom, Samantha, was a psychologist, and the family had adopted another boy with similar issues just a couple of years before.

I spoke to Samantha and her husband a few times on the phone and right off the bat I felt comfortable with them. During one of our conversations we decided that she’d come down to meet D. by herself, to ease the transition.

This meant that the decision was final. D. would leave my home.

While waiting for Samantha to arrive, Jennifer helped me to talk to my kids, to family members, even strangers, but most importantly she held my hand when it came to speaking with my son. I explained to him that he’d be joining his new family and that we loved him very much — that he had done nothing wrong. I don’t know how much he understood because of his young age and because he never reacted to my words.

For my first meeting with D.’s new mom, I was a wreck. I dressed D. in one of his cutest outfits, white polo shirt and blue khaki pants, strapped him in the car seat and took off to meet Samantha at a nearby McDonald’s.

The car ride was short, but each time I approached a traffic light, grief assailed me, and I turned around, determined to head back home and keep D.

The five-minute trip turned to a 30-minute journey, and when I finally made it to the McDonald’s parking lot I was frazzled. My hands were shaking, my mouth was dry, and my eyes were red. Samantha recognized us as soon as we got out of the car and rushed over. Her eyes lit up the moment she approached D., and she lowered herself to his height to hug him.

Over the next few days Samantha and D. got to know each other, and then it was time for him to leave with her. That morning, I awkwardly let her into the house and willed time to stop. With my hands shaking, I handed her D.’s bag and some of his favorite toys. My daughters were watching SpongeBob and said goodbye to their brother almost nonchalantly, as if he was just going out for a bit and would soon be back.

I opened the front door of my home in slow motion. It felt heavy and my feet stayed glued to the ground. Samantha told me she’d give me a few minutes alone with D. and quickly walked to her car. I kneeled down and pulled D. close to me, desperately wanting to impress an indelible memory of my son on me, and me on him, inhaling his scent, feeling his soft skin and touching his coarse hair. In our last moments together, I stared into his eyes and told him that I loved him and that I had tried to do my best.

His new mom would love him so, so much; my little man would be OK.

He didn’t cry, he stared back at me, then looked to Samantha and asked for more juice. I was too overwhelmed to utter another word, but Samantha squeezed my hand and reassured me that D. would know I had loved him and that I had done a good job.

The next few weeks I felt a mix of emotions, desperation, relief, sadness, guilt, shame, and acceptance. After a couple of months at Samantha’s home, I learned that D. was doing well and adjusting to his new life. He was struggling with some issues, but I know that Samantha and her husband are the best parents D. could possibly have. They went to great lengths to legally adopt him, to welcome him into their home and provide him with the best care he can receive. The fact that he also has a sibling who has dealt with similar issues has made the transition easier. Samantha told me that D. can’t get enough of his brother or his dad’s attention.

My husband had originally asked me not to write about D., because I’d only open myself up to criticism. But I wrote this essay because D. taught me a lot about myself and about parenting and because I hope that by sharing this experience others can feel less alone in their failures. D. deflated my ego by showing me my limitations. Because of my little man, I have more compassion for the mistakes we make as parents, and I’m far less willing to point my finger at others’ difficulties.

I’m still processing this experience and I think I always will.

I don’t have anything left from D.’s time with us. Samantha didn’t want D.’s clothes, I think she preferred to make a fresh start, so I donated everything to the Salvation Army. We don’t have D.’s pictures around because my husband thought it’d be too difficult, but in my wallet, I carry a small close-up photo of D.’s face, which I took after his first haircut at a barber shop. When I think about him, I take it out and look into his big dark eyes as a deep endless sadness fills my heart.

Thank you little D. for all that you’ve been to me, to us. Despite my failures, I loved you the best way I could, and I’ll never forget you.

This is sad, but I admire Ms. Tedaldi’s honesty, her willingness to admit that something was wrong, and her efforts to get D. the family he needed. My only discomfort was her insistance on calling D her “son,” and “brother” to her daughters. Those words should be reserved for his for-ever family.

You did your best and ultimately made the right decision to give your son up to those who could care for him better than you. Other commenters to come will no doubt vilify you for your decision, but I think it was a courageous one.

This is a very disturbing and terribly sad tale. As someone who works with foster kids, I’m really shocked that adoption professionals allowed this family to adopt a child.

Five small children and a husband who is frequently deployed? Add in a special needs child with potential language and attachment issues and you have a recipe for disaster.

I commend Anita for her honesty and her willingness to think of the best interests of the child involved. But I am so sorry that the professionals guiding her through this process failed to acknowledge that they were putting her in an almost impossible situation. I wish her the best and I hope that she can heal.

Whew. That was a tough read. (Well-written, but hard to put myself in those shoes.)

First, I appreciate the courage it took to write with such candor.

One of my dearest friends adopted a child whose first adoptive family decided they just couldn’t do it. Happily, that child is now a middle schooler doing wonderfully and her mom and dad are thankful every day. We all wonder if the girl’s first adoptive family still thinks or wonders about her.

The question lingering in my mind is: If you had instead given birth to a difficult son after five daughters – a son who wouldn’t attach due to autism, for example – would you have put him up for adoption?

I have never adopted a child so I don’t have perspective. But my many (at least ten right off the top of my head) friends who have adopted have always said they feel as strong a bond as any biological parent would. And their actions/dedication/visceral love all support this claim.

I think what bothered me most was the image of the sisters all watching SpongeBob and just giving a cursory “bye” to their brother. Their BROTHER, for goodness sake! How old were these girls at the time? A knee-jerk and insensitive reading of this makes me jump to the conclusion that the family had its hands full with five children (and shouldn’t have even approached adding to the family in any way.) How were the girls prepared for their brother’s arrival in the first place? How were his unique needs integrated into the household? Were the girls permitted to band together as the “real kids” and stand agape at their odd, weak-legged, foreign sibling? (I’m not assuming they were, but for none of them to bond with the little boy seems very odd.)

Family systems are complex and it’s clear that D. failed to connect with you all, but is there any possibility that a flock of girls who don’t bother to get up from the television to say goodbye might indicate a lurking dysfunction?

Anita, your story touched me deeply. Thank you for sharing. I truly believe that your adult, balanced, difficult decision will result in a great future for your little man. Would that more people would be so intelligent and compassionate with major decisions in their lives, especially when they involve other peoples’ lives. Take care, take a deep breath, and keep believing.

You did what you knew in your heart was best for D. in spite of the criticism that would definitely follow. Owning up to your limitations shows just how great of a person you truly are. Thank you for sharing your story.

You are very brave to share this with us. I’m sure that writing it was one of the many steps toward healing. You have not failed. Failure would have been to slug it out and destroy your family when obviously keeping D. was not working. For whatever reason, the emotional part for your family wasn’t there where D. was concerned.

I hope no one criticizes you for this. How can we judge when we haven’t been there.

Holy holy. This is so so sad. I can’t imagine how this must have been. The hardest thing is when you try to do something good, and fail. I hope others who read, who have not adopted a developmentally challenged infant or who have not faced other, similar challenges, will reserve judgment. Thank you for sharing.

I’m sure you’ll be criticized, but I have nothing but praise for you for recognizing that things weren’t working, and doing the best you could for D. Adoption is wonderful and most stories have happy endings. We don’t hear so much about the others. My heart goes out to you, and I’m glad to know that D. is doing well now.

You are very brave. Thank you for sharing. I think it’s important for people to know that though adoption can be successful it is certainly not easy, and it doesn’t always work out. Hopefully your essay will help to put an end to those insipid “just adopt” comments as supposed solutions for infertility or an unwanted pregnancy. It’s so much more complicated than that.

I really can see why this was so difficult and painful for you. It sounds as though you did the best thing for D. And you provided him with a good home for the time you had him, no matter how much you feel as though you didn’t love him enough. That was and will continue to be a good thing.

Good lord…
What really bothers me here is that natural parents who have challenging kids don’t give their kids away, its 24/7 parenting until we die. Why should it be any different with adoption?
Thats my initial reaction, ibut I don’t have first hand experience with adoption so maybe my opinion doesn’t matter.

I sometimes wonder why I read this blog, since it so often leaves me in tears…. This was a very moving story, and I admire Anita for sharing. I’m a new mom and I cannot imagine going through this… we take so much for granted. I’ll be hugging my little girl extra hard tonight.

Mixed feelings. On the one hand, my first reaction was with Barbara at #14. On the other, it takes a strong person – and one with a lot of love – to do what’s honestly best for the child. I feel strongly this is what Anita has done; to keep trying, especially when there was another option with a willing adoptive family that had the skills to care for this boy, would have been at bottom an issue of the mother’s guilt and ego – “I can do this!” – rather than what was best for the child. I hope that when Anita is ready, the new adoptive family updates her on his progress, in part because I’m sure she will always want to know, and in part because it will help her to ease her mind and reassure her that she did the right thing.

Anita, Thank you for being so courageous and sharing your story. I can only imagine the painful process you went through.
The gift you gave to D is amazing and wonderful, a family he
connects with and that connects with him on a heart level.
You have demonstrated the courage it takes to deeply look at your life and be honest with yourself and act upon that honesty. My prayers are with you and D.

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We're all living the family dynamic, as parents, as children, as siblings, uncles and aunts. At Motherlode, lead writer and editor KJ Dell’Antonia invites contributors and commenters to explore how our families affect our lives, and how the news affects our families—and all families. Join us to talk about education, child care, mealtime, sports, technology, the work-family balance and much more